


She Hates Me

by Soxry



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Boarding School, Alternate Universe - High School, F/F, Humanstuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-13
Updated: 2014-04-13
Packaged: 2018-01-19 07:08:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1460389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soxry/pseuds/Soxry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She Hates Me by Puddle of Mudd is totally to blame for most of this and the ending is weak as hell and this was originally just up on Tumblr but y'know whatever.</p><p>Vriskan catholic boarding school AU, Vriska's POV, there's more characters mentioned than just the three i filed into the creating process, and i'll post the epilogue eventually. Tell your friends.</p><p>also the only reason why it's T is because of language (and alcohol i guess)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

Maybe it’s the way her hair catches the light when your class is outside for gym. Maybe, just maybe, it’s the way she laughs that keeps you up at night. Her stupid eyelashes and her stupid, weird style have to be why you can’t form an intelligent word around her. She has to be so bizarre that you can’t wrap your mind around the very idea of her, and that’s why you get so distracted. You’re too good for this; you’re Vriska Serket, one of the most respected students at this dumb boarding school. The only upside to this place is the weird amount of trust and freedom it gives its boarders. God, she’s such a fucking nerd. Just look at her, the way she keeps her eyes on the books she’s holding instead of where she’s going.

She’s shy.

She’s shy, and adorable, and you fucking hate her. Her and her fucking stupid pixie cut. How does she have the time to spike it to the sides without looking fucking awful? There’s no way that’s natural; there’s no way. She’s looking at you now. Shit, how did you end up at her locker? You didn’t notice yourself walking while you were thinking.

“Can I help you?”

She’s so damn tall. Her boobs are also obnoxious as shit, like, seriously. It’s like she’s trying to prove something by hiding them all the time; way different from her totally smoking hot sister. Your mouth scrunches off to the side and your eyebrows push together in disapproval. What a loser. Oh, wait, this loser asked you a question, and was now probably considering the possibility of you having brain-damage. You get in enough fights for that to be a valid concern.  
“No, I just thought you needed a reminder of how-“  
“Pathetic I am. Yes, Vriska,” 

Oh, shit. She said your name. Her dark green eyes are literally helping nothing. 

“I know. You’ve been informing me frequently for the past year. ”

You’re embarrassed now.

“I understand. Now, if you will excuse me, I have chemistry.” She pushes her locker closed, readjusting her book on her chest with a small hop in place. “And correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe you do as well.”

You watch her leave; your stomach seems to be trying to rise, and you realize you don’t have your book, much less your homework. Did you even finish it last night?  
 _God damn it, Kanaya._

As per usual, chemistry passes as the second slowest period in the history of modern education. Your notes are irrelevant, Terezi is pulling these random-ass faces when she’s sure Ms. Butterface is looking away, and by the end of class, you’ve given up on understanding her accent.

Most people do. At least you put in some sort of effort.

What sets chemistry class from every other effort to inform the next generation is that because it exists, you now know exactly what Maryam’s hands smell like. Sometimes she’ll lend you a pencil when you beg; if you’re lucky, she’ll slide her hand across your mouth, leaning back in her chair, when you’re speaking over the teacher. What a dork. How could anyone normal care that much about this stupid class? You know for a fact that she has no plans of being a chemist.

You wouldn’t forget that kind of thing.

The day passes as it usually does. Lunch is glop, gym is blah, and people are stupid. You may have dropped a hair in the younger Lalonde’s water bottle for track and field. She’s such a clingy little egghead. Who even wears hairbands anymore? Eggheads. Eggheads still wear hairbands.  
You tag along with your cousin, mercilessly nicknamed Ponyboy in seventh-grade English class. You live in the same dorm area, possibly because his dad and your mom have connections within the school.

Your name is VRISKA SERKET and you have a variety of INTERESTS.

Papier-mâché 8-balls hang on varying lengths of thread from the ceiling. Your room is mostly blue; it’s your favorite. Scorpion and spider designs drape your lampshades and covers. Your walls are covered in movie posters, most of them featuring a certain Mr. Cage. If anyone were to ask, they were so totally there jokingly, but in all honesty, you just adore the man and his works. He really is a brilliant actor.

You fling yourself onto your soft, silken-clad bed, and push open your laptop. A Spiderman sticker covers over the partially-eaten fruit carved into the silver surface. No, no one is online, and you really don’t feel like doing homework. You slide your finger across the opening screen of your phone and text Aradia. You wouldn’t mind pissing a certain little daredevil off tonight.

_Heeeeeeeey, Aradiaaaaaaaa!!!!!!!!_

You make a point to be as obnoxious as you can.  
She answers, but another message pops up on your phone. You give that more attention than your initial mission, and lean forward, blue eyes now intent on the screen. Kanaya. Kanaya Maryam is texting you. You tap it open, and the message reads in the stupid way that she insists of typing:

_Are You Okay, Love?_

And now you’re red. How did she even get your number? You’d snagged hers from Vantas, which is why she’s a contact. Should you reply? Could you reply in a- dare you even consider- sincere manner?

You’re going to regret this. You swallow so hard.

_Yes, I’m fine. Did something happen?_

You’re sure to include an extra seven question marks next time.  
You dare send another before she replies.

_Are you okay?_

She takes forever to reply. Your face is deep in the country of Pillow when your phone vibrates an answer. One that’s not from Aradia demanding why you texted her, that is.

_Wrong Number._

Oh.  
Okay.  
You stare at your phone for a few seconds, and then the dinner bell calls you from downstairs. You remember that dinner is a thing, and then you realize that you’ve been fretting over a text message from that stupid fucking nerd for about three hours. Nice, Vriska. Not obsessive at all.

You swallow the whimper threatening to burst from such a dumb thing. You’re not a baby. You’re not weak. You’re a Serket, and Serkets don’t cry over girls.  
You pull yourself away from your cushioned cocoon, and drag yourself out of your room and down the stairs.

Serkets don’t cry over girls.


	2. 2

Terezi scrunches up her nose when she laughs. She picks actual fist fights with forty-year-old men for each season and spin-off of Law & Order on DVD, owns a multitude of dragon figurines, and, for a blind girl, wears a lot of red. Why would she even care?  
Terezi Pyrope, law-buff and independent guilt-trip, is your best friend.

Today after school, she drags you to that one cafe with its Christmas lights still up right off campus. If your school hadn’t loosened their strict boundary rules when it came to sophomores and up, you’d still be stuck in your room.You don't even know for sure if the authorities of your school knew that everyone left campus so casually, though.

Terezi doesn’t even like coffee. So, instead, she orders water, and smiles out where you’d told her was the window.  
Despite needing directions for the simple things, she catches a fly mid-air before you’d even noticed it. This girl has potential to be a menace to society; not that you love her any less. She’s like a sister to you. She is a sister to you.

You yourself had ordered a latte, two shots of expresso, and extra whipped cream. Exactly how you like it. Your mom sometimes makes fun of your mannerisms; sometimes she’s kind about it.

At the moment, your ginger-haired companion is complaining about a certain Mr. Strider, and what a two-faced douche he can be. The way he keeps switching from Vantas and John in terms of being aggressively affectionate towards them backs up at least one of Terezi’s accusations.  
You’re fairly sure he only swings for one team, and it’s not hers. You can’t find it in yourself to break it to the jealous high school student across the table from you. The poor girl. Like, seriously. There are better guys out there.

Your phone shakes in your pocket, and you immediately pull it out. Terezi perks at your sudden movements.

“What’s wrong?” She asks, oblivious to the strands of orange against her red shades.  
“I got-“You begin, and then notice that you don’t actually have any new messages. Oh. That was just a phantom vibration. Well, that’s weird. It’s not like you’re expecting any texts. You couldn’t care less for that kind of thing. You never used texting for anything serious.  
“N… Never mind. I thought I felt my phone ring.” You say with a voice happier than your eyes, and though Terezi picks up on your absolute bullshit, she doesn’t give you more than a cocked eyebrow. She’ll probably interrogate you later. You hope she doesn’t bring her flashlight to shine in, or rather near your face this time.

You sigh and sink in your chair, looking up at the white, drippy ceiling, and take note of the ancient concert advertisements stapled against their will. Bloody Rose 666? Fuckin’ stupid name for a band. By the looks of it, the members were pretty fuckin’ stupid, too.

Okay, enough with the ceiling. You decide to scan over the crowd of hopeless chumps in a coffee shop on a Friday afternoon. Writers, hipsters, somewhere-in-betweens, working mothers, stay-at-home dads, Kanaya…  
Kanaya.  
What.

She’s with Ampora and Lalonde. A nerd among losers. How predictable.  
You sit there, awestruck, and you’re suddenly very self-conscious of your bad eye. What if she looked over and remembered your dumb “handicap?” She’d probably feel superior, the ass.

Ampora’s fussing over his scarf, and—  
Kanaya wasn’t wearing that necklace at school today. Or, wait, she’s never worn it before at all. Not around you, at least. Whatever is hanging on it is blurry from your seat, and you see an opportunity.

“I’ll be right back.”

Kanaya’s smile dims when you skip over, your own grin ever-present, even if it aches to see her like this. Her good mood shouldn’t be ruined just by you being there. That’s really, super lame. God, Kanaya.  
“Hello, Maryam!” You chirp, running your hand back to your hair.  
“Ampora,” you nod in his direction. Your eyes narrow, but your grin persists when you’re looking at the blonde.  
“Rose.”

“Vriska.”  
“Vriska.” Kanaya echoes, looking up at you with her eyebrows pushed together. She’s genuinely distressed. Her day could be ruined, and it’d be your fault. Oh, shit. Shit. Her hair is in her eyes, and for the life of you, you have to keep yourself from fixing it.  
Right, her necklace.  
“So, what do we got here?” you bend, and she holds her breath when your fingers brush over her the skin of her throat. She doesn’t put up any resistance, and you didn’t expect her to. She’s always been such a fucking pushover.

“A sixty-nine?” you’re not entirely sure what you’d expected.  
“A cancer sign.” She corrects you, green eyes off to the side. “It’s a-“  
“Cult thing?” you cut her off.  
“A friend thing.” She’s sterner now. “Anything else we can assist you with, Ms. Serket?”

You hesitate, fingers still pressed on the metal. God, she’s right there.  
You drop the pendant. “Nope.” You tap her head as you walk away from the table. “Bye!”  
You keep your chin up until you reach back to your table with Terezi, and the trio leaves, abandoning Kanaya’s unfinished tea. You lay your head in your arms, and your stomach feels like it’s dropped into your legs.

She’s a Virgo, anyway. What kind of inside joke is a zodiac sign?

You can feel your sister’s fingers over your arm. For once, she doesn’t speak, and for once, you’re thankful for something. You’re thankful that you’re not totally alone, even if you can’t do anything right.

You’re no longer able to stomach the rest of your coffee.


	3. 3

All of her friends are wearing one. All of them, with the exception of Ampora. You have to wonder why he, out of all people, would refuse to conform. It probably clashed with his purple and black kick, or whatever. Fair enough; you couldn’t be torn from your blue and every other color kick, either.

Equius thinks Vantas is the leader, since his necklace is red. It makes sense, but it’s not like he would last long in any real leadership position. Maybe three years tops before he broke, if it was a long-term thing.

He’s a loser. They’re losers. End of discussion.

It’s been bothering you since Friday when you were less than a foot by your own fault from Maryam’s face. You were within one foot from her dumb face and her stupid, new book smell.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. So fucking lame.

Terezi, by now, has yelled at you twice for clamoring on about how much you couldn’t stand that specific clique, much less Kanaya in particular. She said you “talked about her too much.” As if. In your opinion, you can’t talk “too much” about Kanaya Maryam. Kanaya Maryam, ‘vampire fashionista’, needs to be talked about more, specifically by you.

Your spitballs are piling up around Kanaya’s chair, and a bit on her desk. You actually get one to stick to the back of her neck. A personal achievement, if you can say so yourself. Almost immediately, she reaches back and flicks it off. Ugh, why won’t she look at you? What would you do if she did?  
Probably wear that shit-eating grin of yours and wave, fingers not in sync.  
Score! You got one down her shirt, and her hands clench. She sits straight up, and raises her hand. What? Oh, man. She’s going to get you in trouble. Shit.  
But, no. She doesn’t. When Ms. Buttface calls on her, she asks to use the restroom. Well, that’s one way to respond to you. Clever, but not clever enough.

“Ms. Cal!” Your hand shoots up as soon as she’s out, plastering on a look of urgency on your face. “I need to, too!” The white-haired woman pauses mid-step, mauling it over. “Can you wait to use the lavatory until Ms. Maryam returns?” She asks as if you would admit defeat. You shake your head ‘no’ and she sighs, waving you away. “Hurry.”

You nod a ‘thank you’ to the heavily made-up adult and jog, nay, sprint from the room. Kanaya’s heel is the last you see of her before making the corner into the bathroom, but you pause. No, don’t chase her. That’d be really fucking creepy.  
Control yourself, Vriska.

Okay, no, that’s not a thing you can do. You take a deep breath and step in, stopping to lean against the wall of the entrance. You’re so cool. You’re as cool as Kanaya is not. She’s uncool; she’s like, lukewarm.

Oh, wait, Kanaya is actually why you came in here. You saw an opportunity, and you went for it. She hasn’t noticed you yet. She’s shaking the hem of her shirt, muttering things to herself, and loosening the wads of paper you’d lodged. When did you get so many in? You’re so awesome. You have to wonder if you could go pro. Is that even a thing? You hope so.

You don’t catch most of what she’s saying. You hear your name, and cursing, and sighing. When she’s done ridding herself of your ammo, she takes a deep breath and holds the edges of the sink. She’s staring at herself, looking herself over, and then her eyes are on her reflection’s.  
Now you’re just watching her. Shit, you creep.

“Jesus, Kanaya.” She grumbles, reaching up to move a strand of loose, black hair from her face. “At least the academics are good. I can’t-“She freezes, and she looks to you. She considers leaving, you can tell by her feet shuffling, but she replants herself rigidly. She heaves a breath, annoyed.  
“What is it, Vriska?” Whoa, she’s hostile. That’s new. “Was my presence really important enough to you to leave class?” There’s a darker glint in her eyes, as if she had intentions of hurting you. She’s bluffing.

You don’t decide to lift your curled fingers to hover over your mouth, but they do so anyway. Even if her stance is just a defense tactic, you’d never meant to push her far enough to use it. Her lip is trembling, and now she’s confused, and her eyes are softening. Now only one hand is on the sink, and she’s facing you. And she’s closer. No, you’re closer.

You walked to her without thinking, and now you’re about to make her cry. You fucking bitch.  
But no, she doesn’t cry. Her confusion turns to anger, she lifts up her fists, and pushes them straight down in frustration. “Oh, my god.” She groans, and then moves closer to you. In response, you step back to match the distance.

“What do you want from me!?” Kanaya demands and her face is reddening. “WHAT HAVE I DONE TO PROVOKE THIS, AND YOU, AND YOU’RE CHILDISH, IDIOTIC GAMES?” She raises her voice, and speaks with her hands like she always does. Well, she’s yelling with her hands, now.

If you said you weren’t frightened, it would be another lie to your collection. Her uniform modifications, like how she’d moved the buttons on the blouse two-thirds of an inch lower, are what you’re trying to use to distract yourself. Something’s wrong with her appearance.  
You ask something. She stops, mouth falling slack. “What?” she says, eyes scanning down herself.

“Where’s your necklace?” You repeat, looking up at her from below your pushed-together eyebrows. She’s caught off-guard, and now that you’re looking at her face, you can see that tears are rolling down her face. Shit, you did make her cry.

Kanaya takes a moment to analyze your question. “I took it off on the way in here.”  
“Where is it now?”  
“I don’t know. I dropped it.” Your eyes are locked onto hers. “Why would you care?”  
“I…” It’s your turn to hesitate. “I-um-I liked it. I don’t know why you and your friends wear it, but I thought it was cool that you guys had that. Kind of dorky, but like, yeah. My friends and I don’t do anything. Not like that.”  
Your gaze has traveled down, as if you were embarrassed. You may be. You’re sure to look back up.  
“We usually just make fun of the less cool students.”  
“Like me?”  
“I guess.”  
Another silence passes.  
“Do you ever feel remorse over it?” Her question tugs at your actual, physical heart.  
“I only ever feel bad about this one girl.” You admit.  
“And who would she be?”

You’re not even aware of how vulnerable you are right now. Even your bad eye is focused on her, and yet you can’t reply. You shrug and look away. You feel so small. Pull yourself together, Serket.  
She wipes her face with the heel of her palm and tilts her head away.

“Why can’t I hate you?”

You think she’s talking to herself, but she’s still looking in your direction. “I should. I know my friends do, but you’re just…” Kanaya cuts herself off, leans forward, and runs her thumb under your own eye. Oh. You’re crying, too.

She leaves the restroom quietly, and fixes her skirt and hair on her way out.  
You watch after her, and you can feel your panic responses. Your uneven breaths, your racing heart, and oh, my god, you finally have a word for the feeling you have for your personal time bomb.

These feelings of obsession and, ugh, adoration that you’ve been having for the past year.

You have a crush on Kanaya Pyara Maryam.

Fuck.


	4. 4

You have dead eyes. Your voice is sleepy. Even your cousin’s cat-girl has had the nerve to ask if you were okay. Okay. What a laugh.  
You haven’t checked any form of social networking in days, maybe weeks. You’ve lost track of time. That English paper was due the day after, the social studies project you didn’t help with, P.E.; you just can’t be expected to cope right now. You’d tried to repair the poster that you ripped down in frustration, but now it’s nothing but shreds in your trash. No one could know about your stupid little crush; you’d never hear the end of it. Big crush. Huge crush, actually.

She’s ruining your life. _Why is she ruining your life._

You can’t even look at her without making that stupid, brain-dead face. You always bite your lip, and you always tilt your head down, and push your eyebrows together, and fiddle with your fingers, and Jesus FUCK, Vriska. How could you have let Terezi notice your change of voice when you’re around Kanaya? How could you let your tone of voice change because of her?

You groan and press the pillow in your hands against your face. What’s due tomorrow? What should you do tomorrow? What’s even important?  
Your phone vibrates. No, it doesn’t.

As you’ve discovered, getting over someone you possibly have really, really strong feelings for is kind of really fucking hard. You roll over and stare at your fingers, wallowing in self-pity, and something clicks.

No. No, fuck this. You are not going to be another desperate teenager whining over the possible. You’re not a Smith or a Nitram, or even a Zahhak. You, young lady, are Vriska Serket, granddaughter of Marquise Spinnerette, and are not going to spend your time like you’re not. If your heart is going to be broken, you’re damn well going to fight for it.

You roll over and turn off your bedside lamp. The game is on.  
In the morning, you skip your usual groaning and stand up.

Today is the day.

Today is the day you might grab her attention, might give you both detention for P.D.A., might get her to laugh in that way that you’ve only heard her laugh with her friends. That same way that you would smile like an idiot into your pillow at night when you thought of it, even before you realized that you might middle school like-like this girl.

This lovely, clever girl that’s making you grin into the spray of the shower, and that’s making you check that you’re wearing a clean skirt, blouse, and tie. You pull your black, uniform socks as high as they go, all the way up to your thighs because that’s how your school is about modesty. You’ve wondered it before and you wonder again if you would get in trouble for wearing those cute thigh-highs from the internet with patterns and everything. 

You gag on your toothbrush. Kanaya has nothing to do with it.

It’s Tuesday and you can’t fucking wait to fucking see her, holy mother-fucking-fucker. You’re going to see her, and she’ll see you, and you can actually be nice to her, and she’ll realize how freaking awesome you are and fall into your arms. You bet she’s really fucking soft, like, softer than she is when you bump into her in the hall.

She’ll hug you, and you’ll hug her, and you bet her boobs are super nice. You also bet her neck smells fuckin’ awesome, like cherries and hot chocolate.  
You’re smiling so hard, and kicking up your feet as you walk, and you don’t notice the bizarre looks you’re getting until you look up. Oh, my god, there she is. You take a deep breath, start to stride forward, maybe kiss her hand, and what are you doing.  
 _What the actual fuck are you doing right now._

You’ve stopped, frozen, and now you’re realizing like a slap in the face that you literally have no plan whatsoever. You’re Vriska; people don’t like you, they fear you. Shit.  
You raise your hands and cup them over your face. Wow.

“WOW.” Every walking student within a two foot radius of you pauses and exchanges glances. They must have noticed how you haven’t beaten the living shit out of anyone, or even stolen any more than a pencil in the past few weeks. Your usual victims must feel like you’re calming down. You’ve been calm.

_You’ve been perfectly calm your entire life._   
_You’ve been perfect your entire life._

Your giddy mood has sunken down to your kneecaps, and they buckle. This was a bad idea. No, but you can still-  
You look up from behind your hands in the crowd, and Kanaya is gone from her locker, walking with Karkat and Rose.  
Maybe later today, you can try. But try to do what?

Today is not the day. Today was never the day.

Neither is the day after, or the day after, or for two weeks straight. More than once in that time period, you’ve been sent to the nurse to come down from your panic attacks. Other times, your friends, particularly Terezi, pull you out of class with a claim that there was something for you at the entrance. You love your friends, they don’t deserve you, and of course, you can’t tell them why.

All they ever hear is you babbling about how bad of a person you are. How fucking awful you are to other people, about your mother, about her boyfriend. For the first time in their lives, they’re seeing you self-conscious, and it fucking sucks.

It’s a Thursday and you’re missing chemistry class to lie in the infirmary. They could really invest in a cooler ceiling, or wall, or floor. You’d sleep if you could clear your mind. Maybe it’s the attention she gives her friends? Do you just like her green eye-shadow? There has to be a simpler reason behind this.

A stupid infatuation cannot be ruining your life this much. You take a moment to wonder if Kanaya smells like anything but new books today. Maybe she smells like mint. Maybe she smells like vomit. These maybes are going to kill you one day, and you wonder if anyone is going to care.


	5. 5

Smiley faced messes are shoved up and down the hallway.

Every student has been counting down to the last day of school, and now that it’s here, you’re a mess of gross emotion. You’ve had ugly, scribbly yearbooks shoved in your face all day for signing, and you’re sure you’ve lost half your brain cells to the sharpies that came with them. 

You’re wearing a fishtail due to Peixes. You’d think she had enough hair to be satisfied with her own, but your wavy blond has been driving her up the wall for who knows how long. It’s actually been kind of creepy, but Peixes is cute, so you let it pass. If it weren’t for your current tormenter, you probably would’ve fucked her by now. She’s probably kinky. You snicker. 

Finally, all something-hundred students of your school are released to their parents’ sport cars and mom-mobiles. Plaid skirts and black slacks rush past, and then Terezi tackles you from behind. You’d agreed to stay at her house for the first week or two of summer, because to be honest, you prefer her company to your mother’s.

She opens her mouth to say something, but then someone calls her for another last goodbye until fall. She slaps your shoulder and laughs “See you!” and runs with her hands in front of her to the source.  
If anyone has ever said that the blind were inferior to the seeing, they’d never met Terezi.

“Vriska!!!”  
The shrill voice from behind makes you flinch, and suddenly, tan arms have strapped your own down to your sides.  
“Vriska!”

_Oh god._

Jade Harley’s hugs are near impossible to escape, but soon, the gun-enthusiast has turned you around. “Are you coming to Bro’s?” Bro is Strider’s older brother, or dad, or something. You don’t even know the guy’s name, but he DJs at a club in town. It’s Dave’s grandparents that are paying for this stupid school.  
“Uh, Harley, I’m like, not eighteen.” You say, unbuttoning your sleeves. Of course it doesn't matter, but _Harley?_

“I know that, silly!” Jade laughs, and punches your arm a little too hard. You cringe, but keep up your smile. “Neither am I, but Dave said-“she quiets her voice, and gets even closer. “He said he could get us in. Me, you, and a few friends! I figured since you and John were friends, you’d be included, so—“  
She trails off, and pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “You coming?”  
“I have plans with Terezi—““She’s coming, too!!”  
This actually surprises you. Terezi has never expressed any desire to go into a crowded, noisy room of strangers. Whatever.  
You consider just heading home. “A’ight.” You shrug, and poke her between the eyes, making her flinch backwards. Her hands come up like claws, ready to defend herself. “I’ll come with Terzy, then.”

The girl detaches herself from the close-knit bubble she’d built around the two of you, and grins. “Great! See you!” She waves you off, and drags her bike from behind some bushes you’d never noticed before, and takes off.

Uh, okay.

“Yeah, bye.” You cross your fingers over each other behind your neck, and let your elbows drop. You exhale, and roll your shoulders. Change of plans, then. You examine over your uniform, which you’d planned on shedding as soon as you got to Pyrope’s, and wonder if you even have anything club-worthy in your suitcase.

As much as you’d love to sweat your way through this stupid tie-thing, showing up like this would be a little hetero porn-y for you.  
You’ll figure it out.  
—  
When you’d first arrived via backdoor, you were accompanying a blind ginger girl. Now, Terezi Pyrope, future lawyer, was across the room, dancing with total strangers. You could be dancing with total strangers. You linger by the walls, by the door, and look throughout the crowd.  
Stupid, stupid, drunk, egghead, stupid, horny, awkward…

You count off, and suddenly your posture is straighter. You hadn’t even thought about it. Rose is Dave’s sister; of course she’d be here. The corner of your mouth tugs up, and you shove past bodies moving like electrons.

“Yo, Maryam!” The energy of the atmosphere is finally building up to confidence instead of annoyance. You figure the music’s too loud for her to have heard you, which is why she hadn’t responded, so you decide to take a more physical approach.

Even if you can’t _flirt_ with her, you can at least stay in her life one way or another. What’s one more bother for the summer?

“Maryam-“You grab her by her arm and smile wide, waiting for a groan. Someone who is definitely not Kanaya stops dancing and turns to look at you. Oh, shit. That is definitely a college student.

“Hey?” Polo-shirted mohawk raises an eyebrow at you. Her blatant superiority complex is showing through her shades. And she’s glancing down your kami. You cross your arms over your chest and look back up at her disapprovingly. “Sorry.” You tip your head to the side. “I thought you were someone else.”

You spin on the heel of your boot and stalk off. You duck into the crowd so she can’t follow after you. You know you would.

Feferi pulls you over and invites you to group with her and Ampora, and why not? You jump, and twirl, and to put it bluntly, dance. By the time the third song ends, you are moving exclusively with Fef, and both of you are fairly intoxicated. You have never been so glad that she lacked a ‘personal bubble,’ because you have never needed this much physical contact as you do right now.

You feel her breathing on your breasts and arms, and your spin her by her hands several times. You rub backs, and ‘accidentally’ grind once or twice. Feferi’s sexuality is unconfirmed, and to be honest, you don’t really care. As long as you’re following each other’s bodies, you were somewhat happy.  
Eventually, someone steals her, and you dance away before Ampora can make a return.

You shuffle through the crowd, and bump and laugh as others much drunker than you stumble and fall. You’ve had plenty of experience with alcohol, and you know exactly how much you have to drink before you’ve tipped from sobriety. You have done a sloppy backflip off of that line.  
You make your way to the backdoor once more, not wanting to deal with any security out front, and breathe in the cooler air. You decide to stay out here for a few minutes, and catch yourself.

The alley is creepy, so you migrate to the front. Adults smoke ecosystems around each other, and you stay to the side. You’d taken up cigarettes in middle school, but you were forced to quit when you were sent to your boarding school. There weren’t any safe spaces on campus, and if you were going to get in trouble with the headmaster, it was damn well going to be for something cooler.

The wind changes direction and you hack into a coughing fit. No, fuck this, you’re walking to clear your mind. You’re not allowing yourself to fall into your thoughts at this level of intoxication. You’re not going to feel bad for yourself while you’re out in the dark.

Despite the warm summer air, a shiver melts down your spine.

You stumble over your footwear on the sidewalk, and your vision blurs. You look pathetic, but don’t you always? No, you can’t let yourself think like this. Oh, this was an awful idea. You shouldn’t’ve agreed to go out.

_Why couldn’t you just loosen up and dance?_   
_Why did dad leave?_

Why can’t you shake these _feelings._

You’re crying. Shit, shit, shit. You’re sobbing. Your eyes are swelling, and sticky tears are dripping off of your face like a stuck faucet. This is escalating way too quickly. You nearly fall too many times. You grope the side of the building you’re passing, and sit yourself against the corner of the alley. You just need to sit for a few minutes. You’re only a block from the club.

It’s alright.  
No, it’s not.

_You’re a fucking mess. No wonder mom hates you. Everyone does._ You tuck your face into your knees, and wrap your arms around your curled legs. You’re glad you’re alone, because the sounds you’re making are less than dignified.

You don’t know how much time passes, but now you’re just hiccupping. Numb, and yet, aching.  
Fingers graze your shoulder, and someone crouches down next to you. Someone’s totally going to murder you. That’s just spectacular.

“Vriska?”

You hold your breath. No way. No _fucking_ way.


	6. 6

Regret is a constant in your life. You regret sabotaging Nitram’s wheelchair in sophomore year, you regret writing rumors about yourself on the bathroom stalls in freshman, and you regret having clung onto Kanaya and sobbed into her collarbone when she’d found you in an alley. That was probably the grossest feeling ever.  
But that’s what’s expected from you, right? Act now, think later. Vriska’s mean, Vriska’s tough, Vriska wanders off while drunk off her ass. Of course you do. 

“Vriska?”

You can’t help but hold your breath when she uses your first name. What’s worse is that’s all she’s ever called you. Once you’d pissed her off so bad she used your whole name. Terrifying, but worth it.

You look up from your hands. The Maryam household has the sweetest smelling blankets like, ever. And there she is. She said she couldn’t hate you, but that had to be bullshit. You’re a very hatable person, and it’s no secret. You have even prided yourself in it.  
“Yeah?”

She’s not sure if she should leave the door frame. Oh, baby, no. The air is so thick you could probably chew it if your entire body didn’t ache.  
This silence makes you wish you had something to say.

“I, um, would you like something?” She’s mumbling, which is weird for her. She usually pronounces her words so clearly. Is she nervous? “Tea, coffee, water…”  
Your head pounds when you readjust yourself against the pillow, and you ask for coffee. She leaves the room as quickly as she can.  
The day continues much like that, with as much wariness as she can muster when she asks if you need anything, and total silence when she delivers it. You would have to wonder if anyone else even lives in her house, but you’d heard her speaking with her mother.  
You’re not sick, but her mother insists on treating you like you are. Her daughter is probably waiting for you to leave. You might actually not want to, so you only wander when she’s preoccupied.

Later in the day, she distracts you from the magazine you’d picked up, and asks if you need anything. You nearly answer ‘no,’ but you decide to ask if you mother knows if you’re there.

She curls her lips in. “No. I’ve not called her.” She replies, and looks ashamed.  
“Why not?”  
“You hate it when your mother interferes. All she ever does is scold you.”  
“Where did you hear that?”  
“You’re not a quiet person, Vriska.” Her shoulders are looser, and she steps into the room, maybe even bashfully. “It seemed important.”  
This is the first peaceful conversation you’ve had with Kanaya in months, and it’s about your mother. Of course it is.  
“Oh.” Your eyes are straight down. You should be blushing, but you can’t. You’re way too self-aware. “Cool.”  
“…Yeah.” Kanaya runs her hand through her hair. Her ‘spikes’ have been down the entire day. It’s cute.  
“Yeah.”

Her mother calls from the other room in a language you don’t recognize, and Kanaya’s eyes brighten the way they do when Rose pinches her ass in the hallway. And that is totally the first thing that came to mind for the comparison.  
“My mom wants to know if you want to stay for dinner. Do you have plans?” She asks faster than she has to. “O-or if not, it’s okay, you likely have plans with Terezi, or Equius, or—“her voice lingers, and she offers a sorry, nervous smile.

You’d forgotten she had braces in freshman year. You never see her grin even in the uncertain way she is now, so you can never appreciate how nice it really is. Her smile is so freaking forced and embarrassed. Such a fucking dork.

“Yeah, okay.” You nod, letting a smirk slip, and this other look comes to her face. Dork. Dorkdorkdorkdork. Nerd.  
“GREA—“Kanaya throws herself into her smile, then she catches herself. “…ate. Great. I’ll tell mum.” And she takes a moment to look at you before scampering away. 

You seriously doubt you look attractive in any way shape, kink, or form, but she still bites her lip. You guess she thinks you don’t notice.  
Maybe she wants you to.

Your knees feel as wobbly as your breath, and your calves are definitely Jell-O when you feel your way from the study. Never mind why or how the two of you were suddenly so fucking chummy; she’s happy.  
You’re happy too, you guess. Maybe she’s just relieved to be out of school.

Maybe she was relieved that she didn’t have to put up with you for a whole three months. She probably had plans for the first day of summer break, but she found you drunk and crying after probably having a great time at Strider’s. You still can’t believe you couldn’t find her last night.  
You’re always able to find her.

You probably can now. The mission establishes itself in you’re mind, and you’re on your feet. Thoughtlessly, you feel the wall as you walk in the way you would expect Terezi to, and only briefly wonder what you would do if you found her alone. Wave and make you way back to the study? You never think things through.  
“Okay, great!”

Kanaya’s form blurs past you when she walks from one entrance of the three-way hall and rushes into what you can assume is her room. She doesn’t notice you, and fails to close her door as well. You step in, and she’s rummaging through her dresser, back turned to you.

Her room is a summer of rich wood, white, and jade green. It suits her, you think. She has a corner dedicated to articles cut from National Geographic, and another corner housing a glass tank. 

Upon further inspection, later on, you find that she has a pet moth.

You look up, and find white Christmas lights pulled in bunches across the ceiling. “Cool.” You breathe, and your comment alerts Kanaya of your presence. She whips around and claws her drawer shut. Her large, green eyes scream accusations, and you raise your hands in defense.  
A cool, quiet conversation is passed between your eyes, and she relaxes.

“Hey.”  
“I like your room.”  
“Thanks.”

She runs her hands up and down her arms, and she looks anywhere but at you. You make note of how she’d obviously made her bed in a rush. Uncharacteristic, but everyone has their flaws, you guess.  
Even Kanaya.

Her mother gets a call from the hospital she works at, and has to run out. The two of you agree on Chinese food, and she calls to order in.  
You’re sitting cross-legged in front on the boxy television’s stand, chop-sticking your pineapple fried rice into your mouth, and your eyes are glued to the screen. Though you’d both started out on the couch, one way or another, you found yourselves on the ground like children.  
What else could you expect when watching a movie you hadn’t seen since you were maybe eight? The Brave Little Toaster hadn’t crossed your mind in years.  
You don’t dare touch, but without the stress of your school’s social structure, you dare laugh with her.

“This movie is so fucked up.” You comment, rocking to readjust yourself.  
Kanaya chuckles, and swallows her orange chicken.

“It’s unbelievable.”

This is the Kanaya you wanted to be around, not the one you’d built from your own cruel remarks. You envy her friends to an extreme degree, but you could never be jealous. That would imply wanting to keep her from them, and no one deserved to lose a girl so cool.


	7. 7

The light of morning streams across your face in strips. Your limbs are tangled with Kanaya’s, and you totally did not fall asleep like that. You’d drifted asleep back up on the couch first, and considering the circumstances, she probably hadn’t made the choice to cuddle.

The light is not what wakes you. Angry fists are pounding against the front door, and you look to your tangle-buddy. She mumbles and scratches her cheek, but doesn’t bother to surface the world of the living. You sigh and carefully pull yourself away, stumbling when you are on your legs.

You open the door, bedhead and all, and immediately regret not checking first through the peephole. Small, freckled hands immediately grab your collar.

“ _VRISKA SERKET._ ”

_Fucking hell._

“Terezi…” you slur back, offering a guilt-ridden smile that she can’t even see. “What brings you here?”

“Oh, my god, Vriska. I was worried sick!” She brings you closer with her weird strength. “I thought you’d been drugged, or killed, or both! It took me this long to find you because you didn’t fucking tell anyone you were coming home with—“  
She freezes.  
“Wait, why…” She doesn’t hide her confusion. “Why are you at Maryam’s house?”  
Wh’uh oh.  
“I-I couldn’t find you, and I was drunk and—“Not a total lie. You were pretty under the influence. You frown hard and rub your arms. You’re still in the clothes you wore on Friday.

Terezi runs her fingers over your arm, and pulls your hand up to her face. “You smell like her.”

“Yeah, it’s her house—“  
“No, I mean,” She looks exasperated. “You reek of her. She’s been breathing on your neck, and you’ve been eating her food and-“She sniffs your palm. “Holding her hand?”  
“Holding” is the wrong word. Over the past two days, Kanaya has grabbed your hand when excited, scraped passed you in the hallway, and just recently, your palms may have been pressed together when you were asleep. You won’t admit that. You wipe your hands on your skinny jeans.  
“No, she hasn’t.” You huff and slide them into your pockets, temporarily taking away Terezi’s Serket hand privileges.  
She lifts her chin and scrunches her nose. This is the most serious you’ve ever seen her. “My mom’s expecting us. You coming, or has the jade-blood got you under her weird, nerdy spell?”

YOU WANT TO PUNCH HER. YOU ARE GOING TO PUNCH HER RIGHT NOW.

You bite your knuckle, and your fingers twitch anxiously. _No, no, no. You’re not thirteen anymore. You can’t kick, or scratch, or even permanently paralyze anyone from the waist down. Knowing yourself, the anger you’re feeling could draw blood, and holy fucking shit, you’re thinking this through._  
“Well?” Terezi tightens her lips, and you think she’s starting to get concerned.

Oh, fuck it.

You let ‘er swing, and the ginger stumbles back, shades crooked and foggy, light gray eyes huge. You don’t know if it’s a habit from when she could see, or what, but that is definitely a shocked stare. You look down at your fist, and yeah, there’s blood there, too.  
You’re no Sherlock, but it’s probably the same as the red coming from Terezi’s nose.

You can’t hold your smile. It’s the same shade as her glasses.

Some would consider it cruel to beat on a blind girl. Those people have never witnessed an angry Pyrope, handicapped or not. She’s up, totally abandoning the cane she carries for show.

“ _What the fuck, Vriska._ ” She growls, cupping her hands over her possibly broken nose. Blood spews in streams behind them, and drips onto the pavement of the walkway. Her bright red sneakers scuff at the ground, and she takes a step towards you, your breathing having given your position away, and her knees weaken.

She’s on the ground, with her face in her hands. She’s abandoned her shades to the side. “Fucking ow.” She’s decided that you’re not worth the trouble. She has to be doing this on purpose.  
Nonetheless, you’re shaking. You want to make sure she’s okay, but you want to think she deserved it. How dare she look down on Kanaya. No one should look down on Kanaya.

**No one.**

You’ve looked down on Kanaya for years. Your chest tightens. You want to vomit. _You want to die. You always want to die. At this moment, you cannot remember wanting to live._

Guilt weighs you down to your knees, and soon there’s a heat on your back. You tilt your head back to look, tears freely falling down across your temples and behind your ears. Kanaya’s staring straight to the bleeding blind girl on her lawn.

_No, look at me._

Maryam’s wide, worried eyes harden, and she looks down at you. And she’s angry. You’d be 100% A-Okay if she would look back to Terezi now. You’d rather have mom disappointed in you than Kanaya. At least you’re used to that kind of disapproval.

“Vriska, get in the house.” She says, and you take a moment to process the command. You were expecting her to banish you out. “Get in the house.” She doesn’t need to say it a third time for you to be up and into her home.

Now you’re in the kitchen washing the blood from your hand.

Outside, Kanaya helps Terezi up, and grabs her shades from the ground. She guides her up the steps, through the door, and into the kitchen, all the while holding a paper towel to her face. You look down like a poorly-behaved dog, and slide up onto the counter to get out of the way.  
Walking out doesn’t occur to you until the air is too thick for you to wade through.

You’re such an idiot.

Kanaya mothers, and smothers, and instructs Terezi what to do until the blood-flow stops. Her nose looks as normal as it usually does, so there’s no need to visit the emergency room.

Do you have to go to the emergency room for a broken nose? You never stay around after inflicting such on someone. You can’t say you’ve ever fallen victim to it, either.

You rub your punching hand, and you feel like a child caught drawing on the walls. Kanaya won’t even look at you. Now you’ve really pissed her off. Fuck, you hate this feeling.

You hate feeling in general.


	8. 8

Irony is more of a Strider thing. The difference between their weird sense of humor and your entire life is that their irony is intentional. Yours isn’t. Maybe everyone’s life is like this, and you’re just too stupid to notice. You sigh into your arms, crossed over your folded up legs. 

What’s really ironic is that your super-mega-crush and your best friend get along better than you do with either of them. You can’t help but think about how weird this whole thing is. You’ve even stopped listening to the actual words being produced, and now you’re just focusing on the sound of their voices. Her voice.

Stupid, they’re both girls. “Her” could be either one.

Okay, Kanaya. You really like her voice. And her words, and her hair, and her eyes, and her lips, and her mind, and her laugh, and her legs, and oh, man, you like-like this person so much.

Not that that needed any validation.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Terezi walks passed you from the kitchen, blood-free, and cellphone out. Kanaya scurries after her. Ugh, she’s always so eager to not cause trouble. Nerd.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Your friend nods and hits a number on her phone. It immediately speed-dials to Karkat Vantas, totally given away by Terezi affectionately addressing him “loser.” His mouth is way too close to his phone, as usual, so you can hear how muffled his words are from where you are. You can tell he’s flustered by how Terezi smirks into her replies.

“But anyway, yeah, can you come back and pick me up? I’d drive, but like—“She snickers, then frowns. “Aw, come on, Karkat. I’ll LARP with you.” Her smile returns. “There we go. Good boy.”

She hangs up and turns to the direction she’d come from. You haven’t made any noise from where you were sitting near the entrance, and yet she could still find you. Impressive.

“So, you’re not coming?” She confirms, tucking her phone into her pocket. Honestly, you don’t really know.  
“Uh…” You kind of missed your own voice. “Like, maybe—“”I think that’s a no on Vriska’s part.” Kanaya excuses your awkward hesitation. She looks to you for confirmation, and you nod, awestruck.

“A’ight.” Terezi nods. Grudges aren’t really a thing between the two of you. “Thanks, Kanaya!” She swerves out of the door, and grabs her walking stick on her way to the sidewalk to wait for Vantas. For her sake, you hope his older brother isn’t with him.  
Kanaya watches her out through the window, then turns on her heels. She walks to you, and crouches down. You look up, and she arches her eyebrows at you.

_What?_

She crosses her eyes.

“ _What?_ ” You laugh. God, what a weirdo.

She smiles and her eyes practically take on a lighter shade of green. “There you are. “ She walks around you, drops to her knees, and runs her fingers through your hair. “Are you alright?” You relax against her touch. Who even knows what initiated this weirdly convenient truce between the two of you, but you’re glad. It’s nice. Everything is, from her fingers against your scalp that sends shivers through your skin like ink into water, to her quiet humming that she might not know you can hear her.

You love these kinds of comfortable silences. You know she does, too. For each thing that the two of you don’t have in common, there is another thing that you do. 

Five minutes, maybe years, pass in the silence of your solitude, and you can smell her morning breath. What wonderful morning breath she has, though. You bet she tastes like the green of her eyes.  
You mean—wait – shit – fuck.  
Whatever.

“Hey, Kanaya?”

You’ve been addressing her by her first name since yesterday, and that is yet another pleasure to add to the list of Kanaya Maryam. You know her eyes lift to the top of your head when you speak.

“Yes, Vriska?”  
“Why did you let me come with you that night?”  
Her voice is small when she says that she’s been infatuated too long not to.  
And now your ears are as red at your eyes blue. “What?” You totally misheard her.  
Her fingers tense through your hair and then she quickens her strokes. “I didn’t say anything.” She demands, now braiding your hair. “I was thinking. I did it because nobody deserves to be left like that.”  
“And why did you let me stay?” She’s such a bad liar, wow. Your heart feels like a dryer full of shoes. You tip back your head to look up at her. You know your face is oily, and your breath stinks like hell, but she’s still too bashful to meet your gaze. Her face is so red it could almost pass as another color.  
Green, maybe.

“I would have let you leave if you wanted.” She shrugs, using the tip of her index finger to move one of your hairs from your face. “At the time, I’d expected you to.”  
“And how would you have felt if I left?”  
“Two days ago, I would have felt indifferent. It’s what I expected, like I said.”  
“What if I left now?”  
“I’d be sad.” You never expect such simple answers from Kanaya. “You’re free to go, and you should when your mother expects you home, definitely, but the house gets lonely.”  
You turn over and prop yourself up onto your elbows. “What about Hugo?”

Hugo is her giant moth, who you’d held and cooed over an embarrassing amount of times in the past 24 hours. Kanaya exhales and smiles at the innocence in your question.

“Hugo can’t cry over inanimate objects traveling across the country.” Kanaya looks to you. “He doesn’t count.”  
“That was like, once.”  
“Twice.”  
“Twice.” You accept, and bring one of her hands to your face, resting your cheek into her palm. You really do love how close you two can get, though. If Terezi was to ever find out about the butterflies, or rather, moths you get when you’re around her, you’d never hear the end of it.

Like, ever. 

She would probably include it in her speech at your funeral.  
You nuzzle into her fingers and smile.

“Kanaya.”  
“Yes, Vriska?”

You sit up and fold your legs under yourself to gain the least bit of a height boost. Will it be worth it? You hope so. You run your knuckles over her cheek, and into her hair. Your support comes from your other hand on the ground when you lean closer. Her eyes are wide, and she’s trying so hard to control her breath.

_Cute._

You dust your fingertips from her cheek to her chin. You lift yourself slightly so you didn’t pull her forward when you—  
You’re breathing the same breath. Her eyes are the size of saucers, and then she relaxes. She closes her eyes. Maybe she’s fantasized about this exact moment. Maybe she also has firecrackers going off inside her.

This would be the perfect opportunity to pull away, and leave her hanging like that. You could tease her about being so fucking gay about everything, and establish that your feelings are platonic.

Why would you want to do that? You’re taking too long, and her fingers are twitching.

_God damn it, Vriska. Just go for it._

For what seems like the first time in your life, you listen to yourself.

The kiss isn’t majestic, or without slobber, and not even that long. You let the hand holding her chin fall to support the weight you’re pushing forward. And to your surprise, she’s kissing back, and there is nothing green about the sweetness of her lips, or her touch, or her…

You shudder into her, and touch your hands to her waist, breaking the kiss to breathe. You both make an effort to catch your breath. Your eyes are making direct contact, and you smile. Like, you actually smile. There are way worse ways she could have reacted.

“What?” She asks, smiling in return and touching her forehead to yours.

“I really like you, too.” You mumble, rubbing her palm. “Maybe more, I don’t know.”

Kanaya pecks your lips and giggles, smitten and unsure of how to handle it. Her eyes are shining, and that is the brightness that you live for. “It’s alright, Vriska. You don’t have to.” She reaches up and wipes her mouth. “But you could stand to have a mint.”  
You push her away, laughing. “You’re a dork! Shut up!”

She chuckles and makes a ‘zippering’ motion over her mouth. She’s almost unbearable.


	9. 9

Your mom. God, your mom. 

Dust collects on the bottom of your socks as you pace and you keep your phone just close enough to your face to listen for the eventual cut off from your mother’s voice.

God. Your mom. 

“Yeah, mom. Yes. Yes. Okay. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. No. Yeah. I’m fine. Oh. I’m sorry. Ok. Bye. I’m sorry.” 

You watch the screen of your phone as she hangs up first. The green turns to red. You’re numb and don’t want to touch it. The light dims as you stare. There’s a washing machine in your chest and in that washing machine is at least eight pairs of shoes. It feels like it could drop from your chest.

“She says I need to come home right now.”

Kanaya’s jaw trembles. She touches your face, eyes twitching over yours. 

“Are you okay?”

You’ve been living in this house since school got out. It’s been two weeks. You’ve been so happy. You don’t want to go back.

Kanaya repeats herself like you often drive her to.  
“Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” You lie and any sense of peace you had, and also your voice, cracks. You were hoping you could run from reality a little longer. “I’m fine. I’m okay.”   
You take her wrists and place her beautiful, long-fingered hands on your cheeks, looking straight down. She feels so nice. Don’t cry. Serkets don’t cry over girls. 

You hate Serkets. 

You cry.

She hugs you tight.

Large, goopy tears blur your vision and roll from your wrinkled shut eyes, down the desperate red of your cheeks, sliding down Kanaya’s back through the bent fabric on her collar. You can’t even smell her minty hair. You can’t even kiss her.

Through each heaving, strained sob, her arms are locked around your waist. Sometimes she kisses your cheek. She doesn’t know what to do.  
Or actually, yes she does. You know she does. She’s always been the maternal figure for as far back as you can track using what she’s told you about her life since you guys made the step from aggressive tension to aggressive making out against her bedroom door.

You love that progression. You love how that happened and how it happened so well. You love how her palms are steadied around your hips, and now your breaths mimic sleep as you realize the small fit was over. You’d been holding that in for such a long time, you don’t feel as embarrassed as you would have.

“…Sorry.”  
“It’s okay.”  
“I’m really sorry.”  
“It’s okay.”  
“Thank you.”  
Kanaya cups your face.  
“You don’t want to go back?”  
You shake your head.  
She frowns. You look away.  
“I’m sorry.”  
“It’s not your fault.”  
“I should have called her earlier.”  
“Would she still have yelled at you?”  
“Well, yeah.”

“Then it makes no difference what you should have done. If you’re happy here, then you should stay here as long as you can, but unfortunately, you can’t for long.”  
You’re staring at her again.

“Shit.”  
“What?”  
“You’re super deep.”  
“You’ve mentioned that.”  
She kisses your forehead.  
“So are we a secret?” she asks.  
“For now.” you reply.  
“For now.” She agrees “Though mother sort of knows. She asked me if I liked you like a month ago, and I said yes. She knows I’m extraordinarily queer.”  
“The extraordinary queer?” You mock, smiling a little bit.  
“That’s my ranking. I’m the alpha.” Kanaya nods, musing, and then continues:  
“Is the secret thing for your sake at school or Mother Serket’s reaction?”  
“Both.” You shrug “Yeah. Equius wouldn’t be angry or anything, but he would start breathing really hard and that would be weird and uncomfortable. My cousin is weird and uncomfortable.”  
“He is.” She nods. “No offense.”  
“Not in the least”

The two of you giggle at each other and your girlfriend (YOUR GIRLFRIEND!!) brings the back of her hand to her lips as she laughs like she always has. She’s a lady and a fucking cute one at that.

“So.” You cut the silence with a smile. “Why did your mom ask if you liked me?”  
Kanaya’s eyes widen and she touches her face, cheeks red enough to be an entirely different color.  
“Oh, I don’t know.” She shrugs, unable to meet your eyes and smiling stupidly to herself.  
“I guess I would talk about you a lot.”  
“Oh? Like what?”  
“Like words.”  
“Good words?”  
“Vriska, you actively bullied me for a very long time.”  
“Fair.”

Your phone buzzes again.

About an hour later, you’re home. “Home” used loosely. Your room is the same shade of Eeyore purple-blue your mother compromised in 8th grade when she demanded robin’s egg and you wanted black. 8th grade, for most, was a very weird time.

“So you’re datin’ Kan.”   
Eridan’s words don’t melt through the ice of your mother’s greeting when you entered the house. Her hug was so forced. She didn’t want to touch you like that. She didn’t want to touch you at all. You wonder if she ever did, and if she did, when and why that stopped.  
“Vriska?”  
“Oh, uh.” Your heart chatters, you shaking your head as if the ice would fly from your ear.. “Yeah. I guess.”  
“Why?”  
“Well, why not?” You actually stand up from your hunched sitting position on your bed and put your free hand on your hip. “She’s fucking perfect and beautiful and nice. And now, mine.”  
“Right, right.”   
“Yeah. Fucking right. You bet your fucking ass. And I’ll beat it if you don’t.”  
“Real intimidatin’.”

You laugh.  
The exchanges are tossed back and forth for an hour. Someone else starts calling you. Kanaya.

“Bye, asshole.”  
“B-”

You hang up on him and call your sweetheart back, grinning like mad. Giggles bubble and gurgle up your throat, bursting at your teeth and she greets you like she missed you. She fucking missed you. You could cry. You probably won’t- you’ve shed enough tears this day- but you totally could.  
“Hi, Maryam.” You sit back down on the bed and cross your legs, curving backwards onto your back.  
“Hi, Vriska.” 

**The End**


End file.
